Poisonous Addictive
by Ashesofthesoul
Summary: "I hate you." I love you. "You sicken me." Hold me closer. In the end, neither was healthy. (PruAus. Dark themes.)


"I hate you." The words were spoken to the emptiness of the room, Gilbert resting his head on the table, his hangover sending a painful pounding throughout his whole body, even as he poured himself another drink. It wasn't true of course. There was a part of him, yes, that absolutely loathed the man he called his lover. But even then, it remained only a part.

"Drunk again?" Came the bitter snap from the doorway, Roderich eying Gilbert with disgust, violet eyes cold as he leaned against the doorframe. He took in every detail of his lover, from the dishevelled clothes, to the bloodshot eyes, even as the silver haired man groaned.

"Not yet. Was drunk. Getting there again though, princess." Gilbert shot back, not bothering to lift his head and look at Roderich. Once more the words echoed in his head. I hate you. The thought brought a smirk to Gilbert's lips, as he finally looked at the dark haired man, locking eyes on him as he deliberately downed his drink. The light in his own eyes only brightened as Roderich practically seethed, stalking over to him and grabbing the bottle, throwing it against the wall and watching as it shattered.

"Useless fucking drunk." Roderich spat. "I don't even know why I keep you around anymore. All you do is make a mess and cause me trouble. But then…" A bitter grin tugged at Roderich's own lips, calm and cool as he draped his arms around his lovers shoulders from behind, leaning down to murmur quietly in his ear, sending a shiver down the albino's spine. "...that's all you're good for these days, isn't it, Gilbert? Wrecking everything you touch?"

It was dangerous. It was addictive. It was becoming a habit, one Gilbert wasn't sure if he regretted or not. And it always happened the same, every time.

They always hurt one another. It was the first step, and it always came, without fail. Roderich was better with his words, knowing just which ones would cut Gilbert the most, all the while touching the silver haired man so gently, so sweetly that it made Gilberts stomach churn until he had to bite back the urge to vomit.

Gilbert was far better with his actions than his words. He always knew how to move, what looks to give, what to do to feed the Austrian's insecurities. And oh, the thrill it filled him with when he'd see the man he so adored, so despised, flinch momentarily!

And this time was no different.

Gilbert poured himself another drink calmly, relaxing into the others arms and locking eyes once more as he made a point of giving the taller man a look of disgust, before taking another drink. Good, let the other dwell on the fact that the German whiskeyed up before letting himself be touched. It was intentional, it always was, and both knew it. It was simply part of the game.

Then came the lips on his own, rough and sickening, and Gilbert didn't hesitate to respond in kind, teeth nipping and biting until blood was drawn from both, tongues battling as two bodies moved through the apartment like a storm, growls and snarls of disgust echoing through the air, although whose throat they fell from, neither truly knew."

Gilbert was always vaguely aware of his surroundings at this point. The smooth, cool plaster of a wall against his back. The light shining into the hall from the now abandoned kitchen. But he was far more focused on the skin against skin, the nails digging into him, one hand into his side and one in his scalp, those wickedly delicious fingers tugging his hair mercilessly, no semblance of gentleness in the touch. But then, Gilbert showed no signs of tenderness either as he flipped them, satisfaction washing through him as he heard the painful thump as the other connected with the wall, teeth biting once more, hands rough as they tugged at the others clothes.

it was desperate, clothes strewn along the hallway floor, both of them bruised and bloodied by the time they finally hit the bedroom, aching for so much more. There were no sweet words, no loving kisses. There was simply darkness, and them, and oh, how they revelled in it! Delicate legs wrapped around Gilbert's waist as Roderich whispered those harsh words once more, mocking Gilbert. _"Is that the best you can give me? Maybe I should ask your brother to do this for me instead._" It was downright filthy, and simply drove Gilbert on, hips pulling back just to snap forward, over and over again.

Nails dug into the German's back, and it was all Gilbert could do to not groan. "_Harder."_ He snarled._"Don't fuck around, we both know you have more in you than that, don't we, dear? It's no wonder he left you. As if he'd touch you again, even if you begged. You sicken him, you know."_

Oh, and how it hurt. Not just his skin, but his very being. Everything in him screamed to run. To shove the other back onto the bed, to pull away from him and leave. But he couldn't do that. He needed this just as much as Roderich did. After all, they really were so similar.

"Are you sure you can handle him?" Elizaveta has asked the day he'd excitedly told her about Roderich agreeing to be his. "He can be… high maintenance, Gilbert. He just got out of a bad place. And you're still recovering from…." She trailed off, not finishing that sentence before continuing. "I don't want either of you hurt."

Gilbert had shrugged off her warning, telling her and himself that he could handle anything Roderich through at him. Even still, the first time those cruel sweet words had begun to fall from his lovers lips, it'd surprised him. He'd quickly learned how to play though.

He'd been horrified with himself the first time. Terrified of the sick sense of delight that had overcome him.

Now it was an addiction. A dangerous obsession, a need to hurt and be hurt. It was how they loved, what they both needed. No one else understood them. No one ever would. They were the only ones who could help one another, who could feed the need and keep their individual demons at bay. Gilberts need to not be treated as though he'd break. His need to release the anger he'd had pent up inside for so long. Roderich's need to hurt someone the way he'd been hurt. To feel strong, and superior. And by making one another hurt, by breaking one another, they found salvation together.

Gilbert hated him. Roderich completed him, hooked him in to their sick game over and over again. Gilbert loved him. Sinking into the Austrian, over and over again, was hell and it was bliss. It made him want to scream and purge every ounce of disgust from his stomach, and made him want to thank God for that tight heat that coaxed him deeper all at once. He ached to kiss Roderich, deep and passionately, different from the rough kisses they normally shared, and he ached to break him, all at once.

He'd long since accepted that it was sick. That he was sick, that they both were. But in the end, perhaps that wasn't so terrible.

It was only afterwards, both sore and spent that they allowed themselves to be sweet, Roderich curling up to Gilbert's chest, his voice quiet and adoring as he idly traced over the albino's heart. "Bastard. You're lucky I keep you around." The words had Gilbert rolling his eyes, pulling the taller man closer, fingers brushing over the others back.

"Touching you makes me sick." He retorted softly, pressing a kiss to Roderich's head as he pulled the blankets up around them, arms protective as he held onto his reason for breathing.

It was an addiction, poisonous and sneaky, one they would fall victim to over and over again. One they'd happily accept, every harsh word a quiet I love you. It was a game, and they knew how to play. They wouldn't speak of it come morning. Roderich would clean the mess from the smashed whiskey bottle. Gilbert would go see Elizaveta.

Until the game started again.


End file.
